Taninim and Leviathan
by SoA
Summary: This story follows the relationships and turning points in the lives of Revan and Malak from their entrance into the Jedi Order, to their rise to glory as heroes, to their fall as Dark Lords, and to Revan's redemption.
1. Chapter 1

**Taninim and Leviathan**

_The Tale of Revan and Malak_

Part 1- Taninim (3985 BBY)

Sriluur was not the sort of heroic posting that a young Jedi would hope for. The arid Weequay home world held little excitement or danger besides the occasional sand storm. The closest anything came to intrigue was helping the indigenous government to keep its sovereignty from the Hutt and Black Sun agents who always seemed to be bent on weaseling their way in. Meanwhile, the Weequay population was so collectivist in nature that individuals did not even take names for themselves. They showed very little warmth to outsiders, as there was hardly any mutual understanding between cultures. It was the last place in the galaxy that Embrik Waykennit would have chosen for himself

Embrik, however, did not have much of a choice in the matter. He was nearly thirteen when Master Aram Isliyae selected him to be his padawan, and Aram Isliyae happened to be the Jedi Watchman for the slice of space ambiguously called the Periphery. It earned its name from its unclear control and position, butting right up against Hutt Space. It was a line that was often blurred. Sriluur was more-or-less the capital of the sector and therefore Master Isliyae's base of operations.

At first, Embrik had difficulty hiding his disgust at his new assignment. He found the natives uninviting and the weather oppressive. The settlements they called cities were nothing compared to Coruscant around the Jedi Temple where he grew up. He had longed for the buzz of excitement, the crowds, and the noise.

Thanks to the anti-individualist culture of the Weequay, they rarely gave a Jedi Master and his Padawan learner anything to worry about. It was only the immigrants that raised any trouble. From the stories told around the academy, the Outer Rim was full of danger and excitement. Embrik's assignment was a far cry from that.

But, as three years passed, Sriluur and the Weequay grew on him. Of all the places in the sector that they patrolled, the port city of Dnalvec had begun to feel like a second home to him. While he still could not claim to understand the Weequay, he finally felt like he could recognize and even appreciate their civilities. Both the Weequay and the teachings of an old Miraluka had done wonders in a once restless padawan.

It was dawn and the two Jedi were arriving in Dnalvec once again. Embrik's usually relief of homecoming, however, was spoiled by the news that they had overheard the previous afternoon. Three makeshift transports packed to the brim with refugees from a system no one had ever heard of had just arrived in Dnalvec. The Master and Padawan immediately hitched a ride on an express speeder convoy from the capital and skidded across the desert all night long. Large waves of immigrants always meant trouble for Sriluur, in one way or another. Refugees were often the worst.

Aram and Embrik disembarked at the small speeder station and made their way to the north edge of the city. The speeder convoy had already brought them in on the north-easternly quarter, so there was not much distance to cover. The morning chill of the desert still hung in the air. Soon enough, the sun would warm the sands, bringing on near-scorching heat. It was the hour of the day that Embrik liked best on Sriluur. People were beginning to stir, to start the day's work, but few business were open yet. The was a calm quiet about the spaceport city. It was a stark contrast from Coruscant, and yet, he liked it.

Aram led the way, though he did not need to. Embrik knew the roads of Dnalvec as well as his master did. They kept to the narrower side-streets that rarely saw much motor traffic. Sandy-colored mud-brick buildings lined either side of the streets. None stood taller than five stories, the most their traditional methods of construction could support. An occasional durasteel monstrosity jutted up above the adobe. Embrik had originally felt some comfort and satisfaction in seeing modern buildings so far out on the savage outer rim. Now, their harsh edges and unnatural constructions offended him, among all the Weequay buildings.

The Miraluka Jedi Master set a pace that was neither rushed nor relaxed, the hem of his brown, wool robe kicking up dust in his wake. Although nearly seventy years old, he always walked briskly and purposefully. It did credit to his conditioning as a Jedi.

"Master," Embrik ventured after several minutes of walking in silence at his master's heels, "I saw you browsing your records last night when you thought I was asleep."

"I knew you weren't asleep, Padawan," he replied curtly, without turning his head or slowing.

"Of course," Embrik resigned with a light laugh, then returned to his original question, "Did you discover anything new about the origin of these refugees, anything about Fell?"

"Even the records of a historian are sparse with regard to this mysterious colony," Aram admitted. He brushed his hood off his head, revealing a mess of white hair. The plain cotton band that he wrapped around where his eyes would have been provided the only means of keeping the unkempt hair in check. Despite their inability to see as most of the rest of the galaxy could, Embrik had found most Miraluka to be vain, always ornamenting themselves with intricate masks, hoods, and visors. Aram Isliyae was an exception. "Fell is located, as far as I can tell, on the far outer rim, beyond the Bheriz sector. It was established by colonists from Nar Shadaa about two generations ago," he continued after a few moments deep in thought, "I can imagine that the colonist were not much different than the usual residents of the Smugglers' Moon. Ostensibly, the colony was established to mine zinc, but covertly, it seems to have more productive spice mines."

"Then why is it so little-known by the galaxy at large? Something like that must have caught someone's attention somewhere," Embrik asked, then countered himself, "Unless they were very careful not to catch anyone's attention."

"Spice is a dangerous good to deal in for many reasons," Aram nodded in agreement, "It seems that something has gone wrong in the colony. Though, the records give no clear clues as to what the cause for this influx of refugees could be, nor did the rumors that reached us."

"I wonder what would cause a few hundred people to flee their home planet, one that almost no one knows about or would care enough to attack," Embrik thought out loud. The pair of Jedi turned onto a wider street that skirted the outer edge of the city. Already in the distance, he could see a squatter village of make-shift shelters springing up where none had been before.

"What possible causes are there? Think, Embrik," Aram asked patiently.

"Well, most refugees come from wars," he guesses, "But if this colony was so small, it would take some pretty serious in-fighting to drive people off like this. Maybe someone did get interested in the spice and decided to attack and take the colony for their own. Or maybe it was a plague that sent them all running."

"If that is the case, we will need to advise a quarantine for the new arrivals," the Miraluka nodded. "Go on."

"There could have been some natural disasters that made living on Fell for them unsafe. Maybe their homes were destroyed and they didn't want to rebuild. Or couldn't," Embrik was running out of ideas as they drew nearer to the informal refugee camp, "Maybe their supplies failed and they ran out of food, or maybe the indigenous population decided to drive them out."

"All likely options, except the last," Aram said approvingly, "The records did state that there were no sentient life forms native to the planet, but you did not have any way of knowing that as you did not read the records. You, my padawan, really need to start concerning yourself with research as well. A Jedi should keep himself well-informed, especially a Watchman."

"Master, we have been over this before," Embrik replied sourly, "I have been training as a Jedi Guardian, not a watcher."

"And where have you been these last three years?" Aram's voice did not betray any harshness in the reprimand, "While you are with me, you are a Watchman. And you may find that the will of the Force—and the postings of the Council—may surprise you. Do not discount it from your future whatever your logic tells you."

"Yes master," Embrik bowed his head shamefully. "I do enjoy what we've been doing."

"There, you see?" Aram said with a smile, "And I promise, it has been good for you, and will continue to be so. Although you have made considerable progress on that front, you must not be so eager to draw your lightsaber in combat." Embrik could count on his fingers how many times he had seen the old man's green blade ignited. Embrik himself, much to his embarrassment, had jumped the gun and brandished his weapon on at least three times as many occasions.

Even before reaching the edge of the squatter town, Embrik could smell it. It reeked of urine, body odor, and heavily salted foods that had gone bad even despite the preservatives. Embrik fought to keep the look of revulsion from his face.

Master Aram halted and gazed over the expanse of people with unseeing eyes. Embrik stopped beside him and crossed his arms thoughtfully, trying to look every inch a together and confident Jedi. With cream tunic and trousers and a brown wool robe to match his master, he looked outwardly like a Jedi should. Except for a neat padawan braid behind his right ear, his mop of black hair was every bit as messy as Aram's as well. They made a well-matched pair.

The refugee camp before them stretched out for the distance of several blocks. People, mostly crouching or laying in the dust, mingled with small cook fires, cobbled-together bundles of belongings, and makeshift shelters.. It was a sea of bright—almost to the point of being vulgar—colors. Or maybe that was just Embrik's Jedi upbringing talking. He had come to like wearing only simple creams and browns like most of the Coruscanti Jedi.

A few wary Weequay patrolled the perimeter. The nearest one acknowledged Aram and Embrik with a wave-salute before continuing on his rounds.

Seeming to be satisfied with his own assessments, Aram turned to his padawan, "Embrik, what do you see?" He was a seasoned teacher. Embrik was his fifth and, as he often half-jokingly asserted, last padawan.

"Lots of filthy people, just laying around," he answered untactfully.

"You must allow them that it is early in the morning and they have come a long way, against some kind of hardship," Aram reminded him.

"You know, they're almost all human," Embrik realized with some surprise. Due to the prejudices of the galaxy, more often than not, people in positions such as these were alien. "And they seem poor, like this isn't the first hardship they have seen."

"What tells you that?" Aram probed, pleased.

"The clothes they wear aren't fancy, and the things they bring with them look like supplies for living, not heirlooms or valuables that they could sell to help them start up a new life on a new world. And—it's in their body language as well. Wealthy people wouldn't submit to sleeping on the bare ground without some disgust."

"Good," Aram praised, "Now what do you sense?"

Embrik did not answer immediately. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, probing gently outward. He spoke openly as he felt, "There is both regret and relief among them. Relief to be away from whatever made them flee and relief that their welcome here has not been so bad. There is some fear, but mostly just apprehension. Some sadness too and some anger, but there is really so much apathy." He opened his eyes and looked up at his master, "I don't understand Master. How could refugees feel so apathetic about their situation?"

"It is our duty to find out," Aram replied. "And to discover the cause of their flight. If we can, we will also see what can be done to get them settled or moved along on their journey."

"Yes Master," Embrik nodded.

"Let us walk among them for a while and see what we can discover," Aram suggested, then set off at a casual pace. With Embrik again following at his heels, they wove through the crowded camp. Most people simple stared dumbly, saying nothing and thinking little of their presence.

"Jedi, eh?" one man finally noted. He squatted lazily next to a cook fire, chewing something in his cheek. He clearly had been deprived of a razor for about a week, a rough stubble beard growing across his jaw. "I didn't think I'd ever see your like this far out."

"We try to be everywhere we can be, sir," Master Aram replied, turning towards him.

The man saw the bandages around where Aram's eyes should be and drew back, unnerved. He had evidently never heard of a Miraluka before. "The name's Max," he said.

"Max, as you seem to be more awake than most of your fellows here, maybe you could help us," Embrik invited.

"Help a couple of Jedi? Ha!" he chuckled, "You think I look like a man who could help anybody? I just left my krifing poodoo pit of a home for who-knows-what. I'm just lucky slavers haven't picked up me and my girl yet, or this whole lot."

"We need some help so that we are better able to help you," Aram smoothed over the confusion. "We heard of your arrival and have come to help, but we know very little of your situation."

"You Jedi sure show up fast," Max chuckled. He did not seem convinced of their good will. "Got yourselves built-in hyperdrives or something?"

"We were just in Al-Campur, the capital, last night," Embrik clarified. Aram did not seem to think it was important.

"So you wanna know why we're here, hm?" Max asked, with a raised eyebrow. When he got a curt nod from the Jedi Master, he launched into an explanation, "We could of used you Jedi a couple of months back when Rissha the Hutt started causin' trouble. The Hutts finally got wise to us, and they don't take to spice rings in the region if they don't have their own cut in it. Us Fellans are a proud kind of people, you know, so we wouldn't of them taking over our own colony and livelihood. But then those damned worms found all sorts of underhanded ways to disrupt our trade routs in and out. First it was just the exports gettin' intercepted, and then it was the imports. They were tryin' to starve us out. We tried to grow our own food, but we ain't farmers. Then one night, one of the res-modules sprung a leak and in the morning, all the people in it were dead. Stealin' our food is one thing, lettin' out our oxygen is another. That was the last straw for most of us, and so we left. No point in watchin' yourself die when there's somethin' you can do about it. If the governor and his cronies sort things out, then maybe we'll go back some day. But, maybe not. It's their problem, their food, their spice, and their oxygen now, not mine."

All the while, Aram listened patiently. Embrik tried to soak up every detail he could, from the words he spoke to the way he spoke them and the sidelong glances he frequently made to the woman sleeping on the ground near by. He was proud that at least some parts of his speculations had been correct.

"Thank you for your help, Max," Aram thanked him.

"The kind of help that's going to come back and help me, I'll give you any time," he replied. A lively spark was coming back into his eyes.

"What do you and the rest of the Fellans want now?" Aram asked pointedly.

"I can't speak for all of these louts—some of them are half-crazed spice-addicts—but people like me an' my wife just want a chance to get a fair start again someplace, you know?" Max replied, "Maybe not on this—"

"You're a couple a Jedi aren't ya?" a woman suddenly butted her way in front of them, interrupting Max mid-sentence. Aram shot him an apologetic glance and he only shrugged. "Yer kind er always tryin' to go around an' help people, aren't ya?" she persisted. She was smaller than even Embrik and twig thin. She had matted black hair and dark skin, carrying a baby in her arms. There was another child, probably around three years old, clinging to her skirts. Her clothes consisted of two loudly clashing, floral print lengths of cloth that were wrapped and pinned around her in some way as to suggest a dress. A bright yellow scarf synched it all in around her waist.

"Yes ma'am," Embrik bowed politely. The woman grinned at the gesture of civility, revealing only a few yellowing teeth in her gums. "I am Padawan Embrik Waykennit and this is Jedi Master Aram Isliyae, the Jedi Watchman of this sector."

"Pleased to meet ya both," she grinned again, and thrust her bony hand out to shake both of theirs while still managing to hold onto her infant. "There's got to be gods out there somewhere yet who don't just take fun in seein' us thrown around. You Jedi are here to set things right. I knew—I was tellin' my husband this morning—that today would bring good things for our family. I've got six a them little brats, ya know, an' when them Hutts started messin' with our colony, there wasn't enough food for all of 'em."

"That must have been difficult," Embrik said as she paused to take a breath.

"But, I was sayin', we're dang lucky not to be livin' in that block that got punched open to the atmosphere. We'd all be dead, and I'd rather be on the run than dead," she rambled fiercely on. The toddler at her ankles tugged nervously at her skirts. "But this travelin' is no good on the kids. I don't know why them krifin' pilots thought this was a good place to drop us. There's nothin' here. I'm not stayin' if I can help it. But there's the little brats. They never moved anyplace before. Fell is all they know, an' they don't like movin' an' space travel. They packed us in those ships like nerfs. There wouldn't of been room if they didn't, but the brats weren't happy. Cryin' and wailin' all the time. An' not just mine, but everybody's. I think somebody smart said once that space travel is bad for little kids, and I'd believe it. The littlest of the little, 'specially. Little Roan'ev here was fussy the whole time. She can't take no more of this, I think. She's weaned an' all, an' I got too many mouths to feed anyway, so I figure, you Jedi can take her. You're all good people, always helpin' people and stuff like that. You can take her with you and she'll have a nice life. She doesn't need her mom fer that. Thanks to me, she'll just be starving like the rest of my brats." The woman didn't give them a chance to argue. She simply placed the baby into Master Isliyae's arms.

Embrik was dumbstruck at the presumptions of the woman. When Aram said nothing, he protested, "Madam, we can't possibly—" A strange sensation through Force stopped him short. Something twinged over the bond he had with his master.

"Of course you can," the woman argued, "Take care of little Roan'ev for me. And you grow up to be somebody, baby. Do better than your mom."

Embrik's thoughts were elsewhere. "Master?" he asked urgently. Aram's attention was focused on the baby, but his body was rigid and ears unhearing. "Master," Embrik repeated and reached out for his arm. As soon as his hand contacted Aram's cloaked forearm, reality rushed away and visions bombarded him.

_Lightsaber duels on worlds he had never seen or heard of before. Rushes of power. Battles in space. A mask. Enraptured crowds. A shaved head and a metal jaw. Vast armies all in silver. A mask. Dantooine. The Jedi Temple. A great explosion. A mask._

Embrik drew back gasping. His master seemed to have come to as well. It was not the first vision he had shared, but like all the others he had seen through Aram, it made him glad that he was not a seer himself.

"Master, what was that?" he panted.

"This child," he marveled.

"This child gave you that vision?" Embrik asked in disbelief, "She's just a little refugee baby."

"Perhaps so and perhaps not," Aram held onto the child now with reverence, "The vision that the Force has granted us may be a glimmer into her future."

"Her future?" Embrik asked, brows furrowed.

"Here," Aram gently deposited the infant into his padawan's arms. Embrik clutched at her awkwardly, delicately. He had never held a baby before. "What do you sense?"

It took a moment for him to realize what Aram was asking of him, but when he finally reached out with the Force, he nearly dropped the baby in shock. It was like standing next to one of the greatest Jedi Masters; the Force coursed through her like a waterfall. It was completely raw and undirected, yet unmistakable. There was an amazing vastness about her; vastness as the Force was vast. All this in a tiny baby who could do nothing more than squirm and stare up at him with wide, apprehensive eyes.

"I believe we must honor the wishes of her mother," Master Aram said, taking the baby back. He glanced around, but found that the gaunt woman was no longer anywhere in sight.

"But Master, we have a whole camp full of refugees to worry about," Embrik protested, "We can't waste time babysitting. She would get in the way of our work here."

"Which is why you will take her to Dantooine as soon as there is a transport that will convey you, and I will sort out the business here," his master said firmly. "She must be raised among the Jedi. That much is clear."

"Yes Master," he submitted. He could not deny that the baby was destined to be a Jedi. The will of the Force had intervened in her future at just the right moment.

"You will explain the situation to Master Studea and I am sure she will arrange for the care and accommodations of this child," Aram continued, "In the mean time, I will make sure that these people do not wind up as slaves and see if I can get some concessions from the Sriluur government as to their legal status and protections. Perhaps I can give some assistance in moving some of them along to other worlds as well"

"Yes Master," Embrik nodded.

The old Miraluka jiggled the baby playfully in his arms. "You're going to a new home now, little Roan'ev," he cooed. An infectious grin spread across her tiny face and she giggled. Smiling himself, Aram deposited her into Embrik's arms again. "Now, you know where to find reliable pilots," he got back to business, "But before you depart, you should buy some baby formula and a pack of diapers for the journey. She will need plenty of care and attention."

"But, Master," he protested meekly, "I have never cared for a baby before. I don't even know how to change a diaper." That was not a part of his Jedi training.

"Well, there is nothing like a bit of practical experience for expanding your knowledge," Aram replied with a wry smile. "But I shall give you a few hints. If she gets fussy, see if she wants food, is tired, or has messed herself. If none of those seem to be the case, give her something to suck on. The journey should only take you a couple of days, in any event."

"I'll do my best," Embrik promised.

"Contact me once you are settled in at the Dantooine Enclave," he instructed. "If you run into any trouble, I am sure that one of your fellow travelers will have raised a child before and have some suggestions for you."

Embrik nodded.

"Now go and see if you can't catch one of those morning transports to Sy Myrth," he urged. "And may the Force be with you."

"You too, Master," he replied with a smile, and strode away feeling confident. As he walked back towards the space ports, he had a growing feeling that his task of carrying a baby from one Outer Rim planet to another was somehow just as important as Master Aram's task of protecting destitute refugees. He looked down at the baby again and jiggled her the way he had seen his master do. She giggled through a squinty grin. "Well, Roan'ev," he spoke down to her, doubting she understood, "It's you and me now." It suddenly occurred to him that they had not had a chance to ask for her surname. He would have to leave that issue to the Jedi Masters who would raise and train her.

As he carried her through the streets, bought the supplies he needed to care for her, including a proper baby sling, the Force washed over him in waves. "The Force has big plans for you, Roan'ev," he said to her, "I hope you're up for the challenge, whatever it's going to be."


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2- Leviathan (3976 BBY)

Red light from the setting sun filtered through the metal blinds over the slophouse's windows, casting narrow blood-tinted stripes across the humans huddled inside. The slophouse was well beyond serving food to the frightened throngs of villagers that had been pouring into Neviverum since early that morning—since the Mandalorians burned in out of nowhere and sacked Quelil City. Before the lunch hour was over, the metropolis was flattened, taking the entire planet's government with it. But even before the Premier's Palace had fallen, villagers from the Quelil hinterland began to flee their homes for the safety of closest fortified city they could reach. Over the course of the day, Neviverum swelled to nearly three times its usual population. Gyms, schools, and slophouses like this one became temporary shelters.

The slophouse's owner shuffled between tables, chairs, and people slumped over on the ground with a pitcher of water in his hand. It was the least he could do during a state of war. Few people ordered any food, for most were scared out of hunger. All they really wanted was a ceiling and some walls between them and the sky—a sky that a Basilisk War Droid could drop out of without warning. He hoped that once the Mandalorians were gone, some of these refugees would regain their appetite, or at least drop him some coin for his hospitality before they went back to their homes in the country.

Some of his guests tried to sleep away their anxiety, practically piled on top of their relations, leaning against a wall or a table leg. Others talked among themselves, hushed, and still others strained to listen to one of the portable radios that someone had thought to bring along. One constant in all of their activities was a tense, aprehensive fear.

A staticy radio drawled on in one corner, "...unable to... damages in Quelil Ci... guard by... lorian troops. It... assumed that... completely destroyed..."

"Mommy, I wanna go home," a little girl whined.

"Shh," her older brother hushed her, "Mom's trying to listen to the radio."

"But I wanna go home," the girl's timbre raised to nearly a wail.

"Hush Pressa," her mother turned her attention away from broken broadcast and squeezed her daughter closer. "We'll go back to Squinquargesimus when we know it's safe. The man on the radio says that it's still dangerous."

Seeing that his mother was no longer paying attention to the radio, the boy had no scruples blurting out the question that had been burning on his mind, "When are the Jedi coming to save us? Where are they?"

"They will be here soon, Alek, I hope," his mother said through a sigh and ruffled his thick, black hair.

"And they'll stop the Mandalorians, right?" the boy, Alek, persisted.

"Of course they will," his mother nodded absently, already listening to the broadcast again.

"...not left the system... No word... further attacks have... reported, but Basilisks... sighted over..."

"Where's daddy?" another daughter tugged urgently at her sleep.

Her mother pursed her lips, "He went out to see if it's safe to go yet."

"When will he come back?" the girl demanded.

"When it's safe, Ann," her mother deflected again, "We don't know how long that will be."

Alek knew better. All three of his little sisters, Ann, Pressa, and the still slumbering Emerlie, had been napping when their father left, blaster in hand, promising to help defend the city against the Mandalorians, if it came to that.

Dissatisfied, Ann turned on her older brother, "Alek, what are Jedi like?"

"They're brave, and wise, and carry this light sword—vvvt, vvvt!" he pantomimed for both of his sisters, and anyone else who was watching. "And they always help out people in trouble."

"Like us," Ann said quietly.

"Yeah, like us," Alek nodded. "I know they're coming."

"...have been attacked! ...repeat Arkentis and Parvi... been attacked!"

The slophouse caught its breath and stood still. The Mandalorians were not gone. They had regrouped and were attacking other major cities. What was bad had become worse. Whispers erupted. People stirred around the room. Where there was a little room to pace, some did.

"...military cannot... back against... onslaught of... forces..."

Alek's mother held more tightly to the toddler sleeping in her lap, her face pale.

"...just in! Quemetli has been... Three cities... under fire! ...seem to... attacking...tary targets..."

At at once, Alek's mother was on her feet, gray eyes set like hard steel. Emerlie fussed sleepily in her arms. "Alek, girls," she said with hushed urgency, "get your backpacks. We're going."

Alek was already on his feet. At nine years old, he was old enough to have wanted to join the Royal Army at least once already. He had poured over the propaganda picture books, memorized names, ships, and bases. There were four major military bases on Quelil: Arkentis, Parvi, Quemetli, and Neviverum.

Alek didn't need any further encouragement to sling on his pack and take Ann and Pressa's hands, younger by three and four years. He was cold with fear, but he would take care of them. He followed after his mother towards the door of the slophouse, keeping his younger sisters close.

They weren't the only ones. Anyone who had been awake enough to comprehend what the warning on the radio really meant for them were on their feet and ready to flee.

Outside, dusk was upon the city. What few lights illuminated the narrow streets they rushed along soon winked out, dousing Neviverum into blackout. They hurried past shuttered windows and closed doors. What started as a trickle quickly grew into a torrent of people, all pressing down the streets in the same direction. Above the stomping and shuffling of feet, there was little sound but the occasional child's wail or a low, whispered murmur.

Alek held tightly to his little sisters' hands and kept close to his mother, who still carried his youngest sister in her arms. "Mom," he asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the spaceport," she answered.

"There's enough ships for all these people?" Alek asked, awed. They turned onto a main street and they swelled in to meet a bigger crowd like a tributary stream meets a river.

She shook her head, but only just barely. "And that's why we have to hurry," she said.

Alek couldn't see or hear the source, but suddenly a new urgency surged through the streets. People pushed and hurried more quickly and more fearfully than before.

"Where are the Jedi?" Alek moaned. Ann squeezed his hand.

The rounded a corner, and Alek could see the fin of a starship sticking up above the buildings ahead. They were close. The whine of engines and hiss of repulsorlifts revving up carried towards them on the night air.

Then there came the rumble of engines, an alien buzz, from behind. Some people stopped to crane their necks and look behind them. Alek's mother pressed determinedly on ahead, Alek and his sisters at her heels.

Laser canons shrieked. The ground rumbled with a great, roaring blast.

"It's the Mandalorians! Run!" someone yelled.

The mob broke, screaming, yelling, and running.

"Stay together!" Alek's mother yelled over the top of all of it, and the currents of people fought to sweep her away.

But it was in vain. No one was looking down to see children underfoot. Every man and woman was staring straight ahead, thinking of only one thing: the spaceport right around the corner.

Alek lost Pressa at his left hand first, then the crowd wrenched Ann out of his right. "Ann! Pressa!" he screamed, but the rushing mob carried him along, "Mom!" Rather than be trampled, he ran, as fast as his nine-year-old legs could carry him. "They'll be okay. They'll make it to the ships," he whispered to himself.

He heard a little girls scream and he thought immediately of Pressa. "Don't think that way, she's okay!" he panted as he ran.

Then suddenly, there it was. The crowd splintered, each person dashing for whatever ship seemed best, or closest, yelling entreaties at the pilot not to take off, not yet. Alek whirled around, searching desperately for his family, but he could barely make out one face from another, lit only by the faint blue of engines glowing to life. "Mom!" he yelled once more.

Ships were beginning to lift off. Alek bit his lip, then turned and sprinted for the nearest open cargo ramp. "They'll make it," he panted to himself.

Alek poured up the ramp with other faceless, terrified Quelilians. It began to rise, closing, even as he ascended. Before it hissed shut, the ship lurched, repulsorlifts engaging and lifting the ship away.

Alek clung to the grab-hold next to the hatch and stared fixatedly out its small viewport. People were packed in tightly around him; nearly forty in the small cargo hold. The ship blasted off, arching away from the spaceport. Alek watched as the crowd swarmed onto ships below, as ships took off, and as there were fewer and fewer ships left for the swelling mob to escape on. He swallowed hard. "They made it to a ship. They were at the front. I know they did," he murmured, his breath fogging the viewport. With his spare hand, he hastily wiped it clear. A sleek-looking Corellian freighter blasted towards them, fleeing faster than any of the others around it. "Like that one," he told himself.

Just then, a Mandalorian Basilisk War Droid zipped by beneath them, scattering bright laser fire in its path. The fast freighter burst into flames, like brilliant fireworks, and rained down debris on the city below. Alek caught a gasp in his throat. Neviverum grew smaller and smaller, far below. Despite the blackout, the city glowed, in flames. Other burning cities appeared as tiny, bright dots on the dark canvass of the land below. More ships fell blazing back to Quelil behind them, shot down by the Mandalorians.

The ship rattled and shook as it drove up through the atmosphere. The hull of the freighter began to glow with the heat and the strain, but soon enough they were out in open space. All of Quelil dropped away behind them. Alek grasped at the grab-hold more tightly. He had never been in space before.

Suddenly the ship bucked and the lights flickered. Some people screamed. Alek's voice caught in his throat.

"Get us out of here!" a man bellowed.

"The shields will hold!" a man's voice yelled over the comm.

Through his small viewport, Alek could only see the nose of the great Mandalorian Dreadnaught that hung in orbit around his planet.

Another blast jarred the ship. Alek screamed along with the others this time.

Then, just as suddenly, the ship jumped into hyperspace, and all was quiet.

Not long after, a portly man with a hat suggesting naval affiliation in his youth appeared at the door at the head of the cargo hold. With heavy eyes he surveyed his passengers. All strangers. Everyone stared back at him hopefully. He was the pilot, their savior. With a sigh, he finally spoke, "I can get you all as far as Harloen. That's all my fuel—and my systems can handle. Harloen is on the Hydian Way. You should be able to get transports back to your home, if that's what you want, or anyplace else in the galaxy, really. We'll be there in a few hours." With one last look over his passengers, he turned to head back to the cockpit, but paused. "I'm sorry," he added mournfully, then retreated, punching the door shut behind him.

Alek's heart sank. He was alone. Even if his family had made it to a transport in time, there were hundreds of systems close by that their ship could be taking them to. It wasn't like all the pilots had a conference before the raid and all agreed to meet on Harloen. He slumped down to the floor. Tears welled up in his eyes. He fought to keep them back, but he couldn't. Hugging his knees and quivering, he cried.

Some time later, when he had nearly run out of tears, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a kindly voice asked, "Are you alright son?"

Alek sniffed and looked up. A man with warm hazel eyes and a curly brown beard was gazing down at him. He was probably in his early forties, but to Alek, he seemed old.

"Mom, Dad, Emerlie, Ann, and Pressa, they're all gone!" he half-spoke, half-sobbed.

"I'm sorry," the man squeezed his shoulder, "Did they make it to another ship."

"I don't know," Alek cried and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "The Mandalorians came and everybody started running and screaming and I lost them. I don't know... I don't know..." He broke down again.

"There, there," the man said soothingly. "I bet they're on one of the other ships that made it out."

That was not comforting to Alek. In an instant, as if it were burned into his memory, he could remember the crowds of people in the spaceport, thousands more than there was room for on the ships. He saw before him ship after ship shot down in balls of fire. He remembered how their own transport had shook under laser blasts when the Mandalorian dreadnaught had born down on them. Just how many other ships could have made it through all that?

"What's your name, boy?" the man asked.

"Alek," he answered, sniffing.

"From?"

"Squinquargesimus," Alek replied. A wave of homesickness washed over him.

"Squinquargesimus," the man repeated, "Why, that's not so far from my own Olvia. A nice little town, that."

Alek found himself nodding.

"My name's Arrik," he said, extending a hand to Alek. Alek unwrapped himself from his huddle and took the man's much larger hand. "That's better," Arrik said warmly, "You look like a strong boy, Alek. You must be, what, twelve years old?"

Alek straightened up proudly. "I'm only nine," he replied, "But Mom always says I'm big for my age."

"That you are, Alek, that you are," Arrik nodded. "I know this is rough on you—it's rough on all of us—but you'll find your way just fine. Now, I bet you and yer family were some of those that came into the city this morning, eh?"

Alek nodded. "Dad said we would be safer in the city, with the army to protect us," he explained, "Only a couple of men in the village had hunting blasters, he said."

"That's what all of us in Olvia thought too," Arrik said nodding, "But, looking back, I reckon we were all wrong."

"What do you mean?" Alek asked.

"Well, you saw what happened in Neviverum," Arrik pointed his thumb over his shoulder at their fellow passengers, "We lost. The Mandalorians wanted a fight, so they went straight for the capital and then all the military bases. Maybe if we had all stayed home, they would've left us alone. They must have known that the villages were filled with a handful of hunters at best, no soldiers. No fight for them."

"We should have stayed at home..." Alek moaned, realizing that everything could have been different if his family hadn't left Squinquargesimus.

"But, then again, if those bucketheads are as cruel as they say," Arrik countered himself, "They could've nuked our villages anyway, just for the fun of it. And we wouldn't have stood a chance. At least this way, we got out alive."

"We did," Alek replied numbly. After a moment, he asked, "Why didn't everyone get on ships and leave right away, as soon as we knew the Mandalorians were on Quelil? Then we'd all be safe."

"The Mandalorians may have been in Quelil City, but their big ships were still in space, Alek," Arrik explained, "I don't think anyone wanted to run a chance against getting shot down by one of those dreadnaughts when they thought they were safe on the ground."

"Safe," Alek echoed bitterly.

"Well, we're safe now," Arrik assured him, "Quelil is lightyears behind us, with all them Mandalorians too. It's late. You should rest up a bit. We'll be on Harloen in not too long, and it's a big place."

Alek nodded wordlessly, and, for the first time, pulled his pack off of his back. Unzipping it, he pulled out a large, plush bantha. Pulling it tightly to his chest, he asked, "Where are you going to go, from Harloen?"

"Oh, I've got a cousin who moved to Taris," Arrik answered, as if still mulling over the idea, "It's not too far, so I figure he can probably put me up for a while, at least. You got any family off-planet?"

Alek shook his head.

"Then you should start thinking about what you plan to do once we get to the spaceport," Arrik advised. "You could come with me if you—"

"No, that's okay," Alek said quickly. Arrik was nice, but he was still a stranger, and his mother always told him not to trust strangers. He tried to think of a plan, but he was too tired, too shocked to think straight. Then, a thought struck him. "Why didn't the Jedi come?" he asked.

Arrik looked back at him, surprised.

"Why didn't the Jedi come?" Alek repeated, "They're supposed to always be there for people in trouble."

"I don't know, son," Arrik admitted with a sigh, "Maybe you should go an ask them yourself."

As Alek settled into sleep, hugging his stuffed bantha, a plan unfolded in his mind. He only hoped that a stuffed animal, a deck of sphereball trading cards, some neutro-bars, and the backpack he carried them in were enough to buy him passage to Coruscant.

After waiting in line for nearly an hour, Alek was finally in front of one of the six consoles that ringed around a large, semi-circular desk. Alek punched in his information at the immigrations console as best as he could, only stopping once to bit his nail nervously.

He reached the last question and paused to nibble at his nails again, 'Purpose of Visit: Tourism, Visiting Friends/Relatives, Business, Study, Government Official, Transit, Refugee, Other.' He pressed the box for 'refugee', and hit the 'submit' button.

At the top of his screen flashed the world 'incomplete!' Almost immediately, the woman behind the desk was leaning over to get a better look at him. At least he thought she was a woman. She was of a long-snounted, hairy species Alek had never seen before.

"Excuse me, Master Alek," the alien woman began politely, "What is your surname?"

"What?" Alek asked.

"Your last name?" she persisted, and when Alek continued to stare at her blankly, she continued, "Your family name, clan name, heard name, or home-name?"

"Uh, my home's name is Squinquargesimus," he replied, pointing to the field marked 'city.'

"I see. Thank you," she nodded, and quickly typed something into a console Alek couldn't see on the other side of the desk. "You will need to visit the office of the office of Refugee Registration of the Department of Immigration in the State District if you wish to receive official refugee status," she explained absently as she typed.

"Okay," Alek nodded uncertainly, trying to remember everything she said.

"There," she said, with a last definitive click at her console. Handing Alek a compact datapad, she said, "Welcome to Coruscant, Alek Squinquargesimus."

"But that's not—" he started to protest, but was gently pushed out of the way but the next person in line to use his console. He walked out of Immigration and looked down at the small datapad in his hands, 'Welcome to Coruscant: Visitors' Guide.' Finding the first quiet nook, Alek browsed through the maps and transportation section of the guide. He noted the waved fee for children under the age of ten on the metro tube system and broke into a grin. It wouldn't be a long walk after all. He pocketed the datapad and looked around him. Bright lighted signs and arrows pointed towards the skyways, public shuttles, and the metro. He knew right where to go.

The Jedi Temple was huge, bigger than Alek could have ever imagined. While Coruscant's vastness awed him, the temple took his breath away. He started up at the wide stairs ahead of him, the great doorway at the top, and the four monumental statues of ancient Jedi that framed it. The Jedi temple rose up behind all that, its corner towers threatening to pierce the cloudy sky. He buried his nervousness and started up the steps. When he reached the grand entrance, there was no one there to greet him, nor to turn to him away. He stepped inside.

Alek drew in a deep breath. The Jedi Temple was just as immense on the inside. Polished stone walkways with gracefully carved railings gave way to halls and galleries below. Great pillars supported still more floors above. Everywhere were robed Jedi, going about their business; some walking briskly to one destination or another, others chatting leisurely together, and still others standing deep in thought. All these Jedi lived in one great temple. All these Jedi should have been there to save Quelil.

Alek balled his fists in anger as he looked down at the Jedi in the levels below.

"Can I help you?" a girl's voice asked.

Alek turned around to see a girl a little older than him. She had brilliant green skin, yellow eyes, and glossy, black hair. A thin braid draped down over her shoulder. Alek shirked back in surprise. He had never heard of someone like her before either.

"Can I help you?" she repeated.

"I, uh," he stammered, then straightened up, fueled by his anger, "No, you can't. But you could've when the Mandalorians attacked Quelil!"

"Uh, sorry?" the green-skinned girl drew back.

"Where were the Jedi when my home was being destroyed?" Alek demanded loudly, hot tears threatening to blur his vision, but he held them back. "Where were you?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Wait," she said quickly, and turned to scamper away, "I'll go get M-Master—"

A woman wearing long, white Jedi robes swept around the corner. Alek had never seen such snow white hair in anyone so young as she looked.

"Master Atris!" the girl exclaimed, looking embarrassed.

"What is the problem here?" Atris asked coolly.

"Problem?" Alek started angrily, "The problem is that the Mandalorians burned Neviverum to the ground with my whole family in it! It's that the Jedi weren't there to stop them!" In the days since leaving Quelil, Alek had seen the holonet reports on the destruction of his world, each one worse than the last. "Why?" he demanded angrily.

Other Jedi, drawn to his noisy fit, appeared around him, watching both him and the Jedi Master for the next move.

"The Jedi do not involve themselves in conflicts which—" Atris started calmly.

"But why?" Alek almost screamed. "You Jedi are supposed to always be there to help people in trouble. That's what everyone says!"

"I'm sorry," Atris replied, still icy calm, "But the masses are sadly misinformed."

"If you'd've been there... if you'd've been there..." Alek finally broke down, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Alek felt two firm hands take his shoulders from behind. A soothing voice said in his ear, "There, there. We're very sorry about your family, and your home."

Looking over his shoulder, Alek saw a man crouching behind him—or at least he looked like a man, except for his yellowed skin and turban-like tendrils of flesh twisted into a bundle on top of his head.

"I am also sorry that there is nothing we could have done to stop it," he continued.

"But..." Alek protested weakly.

"Now, tell me, how could we have stopped an attack we knew nothing about?" he asked of Alek, "When the news reached us, Quelil had already fallen. Even if I had felt the cry of your people, little Quelilian, I could not have crossed that distance in time, even if the fastest ship."

"But I thought the Jedi were supposed to be able to see into the future," Alek protested meekly.

"Only glimpses, and only as the Force wills it," he replied, "Iam sorry that we could not foresee this tragedy."

"Then you'll go and destroy those Mandalorians for what they've done?" Alek asked hopefully.

"No, we will not," the Jedi replied and raised a warning hand before Alek could argue, "The Jedi do not act out of vengeance. We act out of wisdom and compassion."

"We will not make war against the Mandalorians for war's sake," Atris added sharply.

"Yes, yes, Atris," he deflected her, then asked, "What's your name?"

"Alek," he answered.

"Alek," the alien Jedi began, "we cannot undo what was done to your home, but we can offer you a new family."

"Master Willum!" Atris hissed.

"How would you like to become a Jedi, Alek?" Master Willum asked.

"I..." Alek stammered.

Sensing Atris's glare on him, Mater Willum reassured her, "He is strong in the Force and will be a ready learner, I'm sure. I can feel Force coursing through him." Rising, he turned his attention back to Alek, "Come, I will take you to Master Nisi, head of the younglings, to get you settled while you take some time to decide."

"No," Alek said firmly, "I've already decided. I want to become a Jedi. I want to learn, so that when I'm grown up, I can save worlds like Quelil."

Oss Willum cracked a smile. "Well, come along then," he urged, "We will still need to introduce you to Master Nisi. She will orient you to your new life as a Jedi Apprentice."

Alek took the strange-looking man's hand and willingly followed along with him. The small cluster of other Jedi who had been watching them dispersed, most feeling a little bit guilty about another planet ravaged by Mandalorians while they had done nothing to stop it. Though only a little guilty, as that was all their training allowed them to feel.

"This Alek, he is already nearly ten years old," Bala Nisi assessed from her seat in the council chambers, "He has had sufficient elementary education, on par with most core worlds, but—" She hesitated.

"But he is very angry and very sad for one so young," Oss Willum finished for her. "I sensed that as well."

"Nine is not so very young," Nomi Sunrider pointed out. "He will need special care and direction if he is to move beyond those negative feelings."

"Then send him to us on Dantooine," the blueish holoprojection of the Selkath Jedi Master Qual suggested. "I do not mean to slight the training regimen at the Jedi Temple, but many younglings before him have found comfort and peace in the and nature of Dantooine."

"Master Qual is right," Vrook Lamar agreed, another holoprojection in a seat beside him, "Let this Alek be trained here on Dantooine. With fewer apprentices, we will be able to keep a closer eye on him here."

"Then it is settled," Nomi agreed with a nod. "Master Nisi, would you take him with you when you next visit Dantooine to oversee the training."

"Of course," Bala bowed in her seat, "It would be my pleasure."


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3 - Intersection (3976 BBY)

Alek dragged his feet, scuffling and kicking at the pebbles on the pavement on his way to the east courtyard of the Jedi enclave. A warm breeze tousled his dark hair and whispered in the tall grasses beside the path. A brith flapped overhead, riding its gentle currents through the sky. The brilliant azure of the sky, the kiss of the summer breeze against his cheeks, and the chirps of contented songbirds were all lost on Alek. His entire being was focused on each frustrated, halfhearted shuffle-kick at the bit of gravel in front of his feet.

The laughter and giggles of children reverberated off the enclave and plateau walls that enclosed the courtyard ahead. That was not lost on Alek, however. He gave the bit of a gravel a particularly forceful kick, as if containing all of his irritation up in the toes of his boots. It careened harmlessly off the path and into the tall grasses.

"Ah, there you are, Alek Squinquargesimus. We were beginning to wonder if you had overslept." The tall, blond Sephi Jedi Master, Aleco Studea, stood with his usual instructor Bala Nisi at the entrance to the courtyard. She smiled gently at him. It was the sweet sort of condescending smile that Alek and grown to despise. "It is good to see you." By now, Alek knew that the Jedi Masters could sense when he was out-of-sorts. Master Aleco was pointedly ignoring his frustration.

"Good morning, Master Aleco," Alek mumbled with his eyes still to the gravel path, "Master Bala."

Bala Nisi was not about to ignore her charge's dejected attitude, however. "Alek, you can't keep this up every morning," Bala scolded gently. "The sun is shining. You are safe on Dantooine now. Your friends are here." She swept her hand towards the knot of younglings playing a noisy game of Force Ball.

Alek puckered his face into a sour grimace. That was a lie and she knew it. Those kids were hardly more than toddlers. Most of them were not even half his age. They weren't his friends. Alek did not know where his friends were any more. He didn't even know if they were still alive or if they were killed in the Mandalorian bombardment of Quelil. They might be scattered across the galaxy, refugees just like him. He would probably never know.

"You're a Jedi now," Bala continued encouragingly.

"Aren't Jedi supposed to be training to go out and help people," Alek asked pointedly, "not trying to beat the other team at Force Ball?"

"Force Ball is a game that will help you become a better Jedi for the future," Bala pointed out, "As I said before, it trains your control in the Force. Why don't you go join the other younglings in their game?"

"Do I have to?" Alek whined. "I'm almost ten. That's the kind of stupid game my little sisters play." If any of his little sisters were still alive after the attack.

The two Jedi Masters exchanged knowing looks.

"You know Alek," Aleco started, "We were discussing your education and your need for something more age-appropriate. Our curriculum is not designed for someone your age. As most of our apprentices arrive at the enclave when they are much younger."

"I know," Alek replied dully, staring at the children fooling around with the head-sized ball behind the two Jedi masters.

"Perhaps you could find someone closer to your age who is willing to help you catch up with your peers," Aleco suggested.

"Like a master?" Alek asked, suddenly perking up. This sounded far better than Force Ball any day.

"Like a mentor," Bala corrected him. "You and your mentor would still need to check in with me to ensure that you are still receiving all the training you need. And you will still need to attend the more formal classes, but not game-practice like this."

"I'll do it," Alek said quickly, almost cutting off the copper-skinned Jedi Master.

Aleco smiled lightly. "Well then, you had best be off to find a mentor for your studies," she suggested warmly.

"Uh, where should I look?" Alek asked. Like it or not, nearly all his waking moments since arriving on Dantooine were spent in the company of the little kids in his class. He had hardly had any time to get to know the Jedi apprentices his own age.

Bala shifted an inquiring glance at Aleco, who nodded. "You might want to ask Roan'ev," she suggested.

"Roan?" Alek asked for clarification. Despite his lack of social interaction with his age-peers, that was a name he knew. Everyone knew of Roan'ev. Alek had sneaked in to watch him in the practice ring a few days earlier. Roan already knew impressive Force tricks. While Alek watched, Roan'ev was doing pretty well against someone almost twice his size in a duel with the plasteel practice sabers. Everyone said that Roan'ev was powerful beyond his years, destined to become a great Jedi. "He's good," Alek praised, "for a little kid."

"Yes _she_ is," Bala replied, stressing the pronoun, "And she is one year your elder as well."

"Roan is a girl?" Alek spurted, baffled, "But he, er, she looks like a—Roan is a boy's name."

"Perhaps on your planet," Aleco replied, "But Roan'ev is a perfectly acceptable girl's name where she is from."

"Uh, okay," Alek stared at his feed, embarrassed. He hoped that he thought Roan'ev was a boy never got back to her. He would hate to get on her bad side. "But what if he—she says no?" he asked.

"Then you will have to find someone else who does want to help you," Aleco replied calmly. "But I think she will see the wisdom in mentoring you."

Alek nodded, "Okay, I'll go find her." Without another word of encouragement or blessing from the masters, he turned and hurried off down the path, thrilled to put Force Ball behind him.

Watching him go, Aleco turned to Bala and added, "And Roan'ev will benefit from a friend as well."

Roan'ev was not to be found in any of the practice arenas, in the apprentice library, or even in the mess hall. After the better part of an exasperated hour of searching, another apprentice offered some help.

Leaning close to Alek, the Twi'lek said in a low voice, "When she doesn't have anything else to do, Roan'ev usually goes up to the back side of that plateau west of the enclave and watches the cath hounds."

"Watches cath hounds?" Alek asked.

The Twi'lek just shrugged.

"But leaving the enclave grounds isn't allowed for apprentices," Alek protested.

"Try telling her that," he laughed.

Alek set his jaw determinedly. If that's where Roan'ev was, he was going to have to learn how to sneak out of the enclave too. "Thanks," Alek bowed clumsily to the older apprentice and started off again.

Sneaking out was not as difficult as he had anticipated. The Jedi Enclave did not exactly keep guards. They trusted their students to stay in and the riffraff to stay out.

He skirted the edge of the plateau until he found a warn dirt path through the scrub grasses. Grasping at roots and rocks for hand-holds, Alek scrambled to the top. He made a backward glance to check that no one had seen his ascent, and then began to search for Roan'ev.

Alek did not have to look far. Roan'ev sat calmly on the far edge of the plateau, overlooking the rolling plains of the Dantooine outback. With her coarse black hair styled ever shorter than Alek's, he still had a hard time seeing Roan'ev as a girl.

Her attention was focused on the plain below where a pack of cath hounds lounged in a the sun. While the adults napped, a litter of cubs wrestled and tumbled nearby. Roan'ev made a firm gesture with one hand and a large rock abruptly rolled into the path of one of the smaller cubs. The pup paused, sniffed curiously at the rock, then clambered over it. Roan'ev made a sharp pulling gesture, and the ground beneath the pup gave way into a shallow hole. It yelped, but was soon pulling itself out again and trotting over to its other playmates. Alek let out a small gasp, watching it fall.

Roan'ev looked over her shoulder at him, dark eyes boring into his.

"Uh, hi," he stammered, "I'm—"

"You're the new kid Master Bala brought in," she observed, "Alek, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he nodded sheepishly, "Alek Squinquargesimus."

"Squit-a-whaty-what?" she spurted back.

"Squinquargesimus," Alek replied then added, "I'm sorry for sneaking up on you."

"You didn't sneak up on me," Roan'ev replied plainly.

Alek stared at her. He didn't know how to reply.

"Cummere," she urged him with a wave of her hand, "This is really interesting."

"What?" Alek asked as he approached.

He sat down in the dry grass as she replied, "No matter how weak one of these cubs is from the beginning, if he has to get over lots of troubles, he is stronger and smarter than the other cubs by the end."

"What do you mean?" Alek asked.

"Watch," she said firmly. With a tug of her hand, a large spire of rock tipped and thudded to the ground in front of the litter of cubs. Some immediately began barking at it while one of the adult cath hounds wuffed agitatedly. Before the rest of the pups calmed down, the smallest of them began to climb haltingly over it towards the rest of the pack. Seeing the little cub climb, the others quieted down and jumped at the rock to climb over it as well. Soon, they were all on the other side, bounding towards their mother.

Roan'ev took a deep breath and made a slow, labored lifting motion with both of her hands. On the plain floor below, the rock spire lifted off the ground, pivoted, and settled itself back into its original spot again. Roan'ev released her air then turned to Alek. "See?" she asked.

"They all got over it," he observed.

"But that little one led the charge," Roan'ev pointed out. "I've been testing that one for weeks now; giving it all sorts of trouble. Because of all that trouble, now it can handle anything. It made him stronger."

"Huh," Alek nodded.

"So what are you doing up here anyway?" Roan'ev asked abruptly, "I thought I was the only one who liked to play with cath hounds."

"Well," Alek began, "The masters said that I should look for someone to mentor me and that you might do it, since I'm way older than the other kids in my class, and their games are boring, and someone said that I would find you if I looked here."

"Oh," Roan'ev stared closely at him, "So you want a mentor?"

"Yeah. So I can catch up with people my own age," Alek answered, "If you have time."

She continued to stare fixatedly at him, deep in thought. Finally, she broke the silence over the cath hound yips, "I'll do it. And I'll do it in a year."

"Only for a year?" Alek asked.

"Because after a year, you'll be ready to join our class," Roan'ev replied.

"You can do that?" Alek asked, almost wild with anticipation.

"I will do it," she declared. "You better be ready to work hard."

"You bet I am!" Alek exclaimed.

One of the dozing cath hounds looked up in their direction and barked a warning.

"There's one thing though," Roan'ev warned him.

"What?" Alek asked hesitantly.

"I get to call you Squint," she replied.

"Squint? Why?" Alek asked.

"Because there's already an Onderonian named Alek in my class," she explained decisively, "And your last name is too hard to say over and over. Squint is close enough."

"Well, okay," Alek nodded. He continued slowly, hoping that she would not take offense, "Do I have to call you Roan'ev then?"

"Why not?" she asked.

"Well, Roan is a boy's name," he continued, almost regretting his question under her intense gaze.

Suddenly, she broke out laughing. "Well, if that's it," she replied with a grin, "you can call me Ev, unless that's a boy's name too on your planet."

"Ev isn't a name at all on my planet," he replied, breaking a hesitant smile.

"Great. Then it works," she replied. "Where are you from anyway?"

"Squinquargesimus, on Quelil," Alek replied quietly. He tried not to think about it very often. The Jedi Masters said that being sad about his home could lead to the Dark Side.

"So that's where you got that awful last name," Roan'ev observed playfully.

"It's not really my last name," Alek explained, "Quelilians don't have last names. It's just when I came to Coruscant, they needed a last name for customs, and so they gave me that one."

"Quelil," Roan'ev said pensively, "That's the planet that the Mandalorians got a month ago, isn't it?"

Alek nodded and stared at the ground, twisting blades of grass in his fingers.

"Is your family okay?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," he replied, ripping at the grass, "They didn't make it to the same ship I did. Everybody was running and screaming and the Mandalorians were coming in. I don't know what happened to them."

Roan'ev put a small hand on his leg. "I'm sure they're okay," she reassured him.

"I hope so," Alek bit back tears. He breathed deeply like Bala Nisi had taught him and forced those thoughts from his mind. Salty tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but he did not let them free. He tried to think of Dantooine, of the Jedi, of the cath hounds, of how much fun it would be to have Roan'ev to help him learn. All the while, she kept a calming hand on his leg, waiting for him to recover. He swallowed raggedly and looked up at Roan'ev. Changing the subject, he asked, "Were are you from, Ev?"

She shrugged, "I don't know."

"Really?" Alek asked, "How?"

"Master Vrook says that the Jedi found me when my parents were refugees," she explained, "The Jedi brought me here when I was still a baby and raised me. The only place I know is Dantooine."

"Didn't they tell you where they found you?" Alek asked.

"Master Vrook says that the Jedi have no attachments to places. He says that a Jedi's home planet doesn't matter," she replied.

"But didn't you ask?" Alek pressed.

"Yes, and he didn't tell me," Roan'ev replied. She paused thoughtfully, staring up at the flawlessly blue sky, "But I think that, by not telling me, he proved that it is important. Why keep it a secret otherwise?" She let that sink in, still staring distantly at the sky. Finally, she turned to Alek and said, "Don't let anybody tell you that Quelil isn't important any more. You are who you are because of your home."

Alek clenched his fists. "And someday, I'll get back at the Mandalorians for what they did to my planet," he promised vengefully.

Roan'ev stared at him again, as if measuring him up. Alek shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He would have to get used to that.

"So," she started again at last, "If I'm going to get you into my class by next year, we're starting now. You see that rock over there?" She pointed to the tall spire that she had tipped over earlier as an obstacle for the cath pups.

Alek nodded.

"I want you to pick it up and put it back down again," she instructed.

"What?" Alek protested, "I've never done anything like that before." The rock was huge, heavier than anything he had ever Lifted in the Force before.

"That's why you're going to do it now," she replied firmly. "Have you ever played Force Ball?"

"Of course," he snorted.

"If you can lift that ball, you can lift this rock. It's no different in the Force," she recited plainly.

"But it's so much bigger," he protested weakly, knowing that she was right.

"We're going to sit here until you do it," Roan'ev asserted.

"But lunch is in almost an hour," Alek protested again.

"Then you better get over whatever it is that makes you think this will be hard fast," she said with a wicked grin.

"'I can do all things through the Force,'" Alek quoted, grumbling.

"That's the spirit," Roan'ev grinned.


End file.
